


L'Ultima Cena

by dazing



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Abigail isn't alive in this version sorry y'all, M/M, On the Run, Post season finale, post mizumono
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 17:37:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1696733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dazing/pseuds/dazing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will takes Hannibal up on his offer.</p><p>"We could disappear now. Tonight. Feed your dogs, leave a note for Alana and never see her or Jack again. Almost polite."</p><p>Will stirred the contents of his drink, through practice containing the liquid inside of the glass despite its attempts at escape. "You're not one to be almost anything,"</p>
            </blockquote>





	L'Ultima Cena

"Is it ideal that Jack die?"

 

Earlier that afternoon, Will had sat across from Jack, ensuring him that he was his man. He ensured him that he would comb his hair back, he would invest in a better aftershave, he would _seduce_ Hannibal Lecter, but that would be all. He killed a man, _that_ Jack certainly didn't count on happening, and still, he was his man. He forgot who was seducing who: one too many glasses of wine after a meal, a prolonged glance, unnecessary brushes of hands. He's almost slipped. No, he was Jack's man. 

"It's necessary. What happens to Jack has been preordained," Will almost bit his tongue saying it, but no, it's true. There's a flash in the maroon eyes sitting across from him, a knowing smile that exhibited an omnipotence that Will had yet to mimic. Hannibal seemed satisfied with the answer for the time being, bringing his fork and knife back to his plate. Will noticed, not unlike how he usually did, that Hannibal _really_ savored the forkful. It was a bit disconcerting, and he knew that there was meaning behind it, but he trained himself not to stare a long time ago.

In the beginning, Will would nod when Hannibal would put out a cut of meat in front of him and feign its origin. Now that they had gotten closer, that _Will_ had gotten closer, they'd just exchange glances when Hannibal explains the animal his _pate'_ or _potage_ was made from. It's almost a personal joke, laughable only if Will could get the image of Beverly Katz out of his mind as he enjoyed his meal-a reaction he fine tuned as the nights he spent at Hannibal's came around quicker and quicker.

It wasn't all pretend with Will. He was self-aware just enough to admit that. Most of Hannibal's meals, excluding the farther-out ones (whole songbird eaten in one bite), he really could enjoy, and his heart started to race less and less at the mystery meat being placed in front of him each course. It wouldn't beat any quicker than it would, for example, when Hannibal's Italian-leather clad foot would brush up against Will's, by pure accident, every single meal without fail. 

And when it happened now, when the tip of Hannibal's loafer encircled Will's ankle-too methodically to be accidental, Will meet's Hannibal's crinkled eyes. The man didn't apologize which took Will aback, only inching his foot away after a beat that Will was sure lasted longer than it did. 

"We could disappear now. Tonight." 

Because Will had taught himself to suppress surprise, the offer-no, the proposal-fills the air conversationally. Hannibal is a man of his word, no matter how much he twisted it to fit his agenda, a man who didn't talk just to make talk. There was something behind his eyes that was dangerous. "...Feed your dogs, leave a note for Alana and never see her or Jack again. Almost polite."

Will stirred the contents of his drink, through practice containing the liquid inside of the glass despite its attempts at escape. "You're not one to be _almost_ anything," 

That elicited a chuckle, the doctor cutting into his meat again. "You are right. Nor am I one to exact too much unnecessary bloodshed. Especially when that blood used to be of friend instead of foe."

"It's bloodshed nonetheless, but it does have to happen." Will swallowed, a smile playing on his face when he looked back to Hannibal. "We can't pretend like we both haven't held a gun to each other's head, Dr. Lecter." 

At this Hannibal stood, collecting Will's plate and his own. "No, not a gun. Never that crude,"

Will pushed in his chair and followed Hannibal to the kitchen, watching him set the plates in the sink gingerly and running the water. 

"No flaming pastry for dessert? Even for a...last supper?"

Humor threaded through Hannibal's face. "I don't believe even Jesus had Baked Alaska for his last supper. I'd be glad to prepare something for you." 

Will shook his head and instead went to grab his jacket as Hannibal followed to escort him to the door. "I'm your man,"

Hannibal spun Will around to weave his scarf around his neck, tucking it just so to protect him from the Baltimore chill. "I...should hope so. As am I yours. Goodnight, Will."

Despite the wool encompassing his neck, goosebumps still plagued Will's neck as he walked down the steps from the estate and onto the sidewalk. The concrete was slick to the soles of his shoes and he imagined it must have rained during his stay, one that had extended its supposed time slot. As he approaches his car parked behind Hannibal's, a flurry of motion on a nearby roof caught his attention. He could identify a SWAT formation when he saw one, and though it was mostly dark, an ex-agent of the Bureau could spot one a mile away.

_"I've got sharp-shooters on the roofs of neighboring houses with lines of sight inside,"_

Will ignored the sinking feeling in his gut as he opened the car door and sat inside, hesitating to put the keys into the ignition in favor of resting his palms on the steering wheel. He blinked and blinked but all he saw when he looked out his windshield was a stag waiting unknowingly in a clearing, and even when it transformed to a wendigo, and it bore its eyes into Will's, he still felt guilt at its deaf ear to the hunters circling it. He closed his eyes as lingering stares and intimate hallucinations flooded his brain, overwhelming his system to its breaking point. He shuddered at the loss of those sinister eyes that he thought of, braced over the toilet, pumping angry release after a long dinner with the man who _did_ , whether he admit to it or not, hold a gun to his head.

Will's body for a moment ignored the impending danger looming over him (literally) and tore out of his car like a shot, slamming into Hannibal's front door and beating at the wood unrepentant until it opened and he fell into the arms of an ashen-haired man who smelled like everything he hated and loved at the same time. Will grabbed Hannibal's forearms with a white-knuckled grip, gaze shifting eye to eye as he shook his head vehemently, and a wave of nausea hit him as Hannibal's brow furrowed in confusion. Suddenly, Will became conscious of the sheen of sweat that was now encompassing his face, neck red-hot where the scarf tied around him.

He broke away, grabbing a coat off of the rack and shoving it into Hannibal's arms. "They know."

"Will?"

Will stopped his manic pacing and swallowed down a dry throat as he set his gaze back onto maroon eyes. "Jack. They know. You're not safe and neither am I and we have to go _now._ Before Jack RSVP's to your damn dinner party invitation." He threw out a gesturing arm towards the kitchen for emphasis. "He's got eyes on you already,"

His stomach turned again, and he placed the back of his hand to his mouth and doubled over. He didn't jump when he felt a hand on his shoulder, cool to Will's hot, and he didn't know how to feel about the fact that he had become accustomed to Hannibal's pervasive touches.

"Will, look at me."

He opened his eyes, slowly at first to minimize the amount of sweat that would drip into them and turn them red. Hannibal had taken a knee on the floor in front of him, craning his neck to get a view at Will's face from behind his hair. Hannibal swept the dampened curls up and away from Will's brow, and he now peered into his baby blues with a tenderness that should have been surprising coming from a cannibal, but Will knew better. "Tell me everything,"

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> look me up at eatthehugh.tumblr.com ;)
> 
> L'Ultima Cena, the (working) title for this series, translates to the Last Supper in Italian :)


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